I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! -But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? V. Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: And cometh from afar: But trailing clouds of glory do we come Heaven lies about us in our infancy! But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, The Youth, who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, VI. Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; And no unworthy aim, The homely Nurse doth all she can Forget the glories he hath known, And that imperial palace whence he came. VII. Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, To dialogues of business, love, or strife; Ere this be thrown aside, And with new joy and pride The little Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his humorous stage That Life brings with her in her equipage; Were endless imitation. VIII. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth belie Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep 110 100 90 That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Mighty Prophet! Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, Which we are toiling all our lives to find, Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! IX. O joy! that in our embers. Is something that doth live, That nature yet remembers What was so fugitive! The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction: not indeed For that which is most worthy to be blest; Delight and liberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings 120 130 140 Moving about in worlds not realised, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavour, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence, in a season of calm weather, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Can in a moment travel thither, And see the Children sport upon the shore, X. Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright 150 160 170 Though nothing can bring back the hour Which having been must ever be; In the faith that looks through death, 180 XI. And O, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks which down their channels fret, The Clouds that gather round the setting sun 1803-1806.] 190 200 1 Wordsworth protests that he does not mean to inculcate a belief in previous existence, though there is nothing in revelation to contradict it. |